Race With Wrath
by Etharei
Summary: A new perspective on how the friendship between Aragorn and Legolas may have developed- as well as a look at a decent Thranduil, for once. CH1- Celeborn arrives, Mirkwood on their way...
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: All recognisable characters, places and names are the property of The Author, JRR Tolkien._

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Race with Wrath

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"I think, Elrond, that in this matter it would be well to trust rather to their friendship than to great wisdom." – The Ring Goes South, FOTR

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Prologue

It was late in the night, and only a few souls in Rivendell still walked the waking world. Thus few marked the arrival of a lone rider atop a splendid white horse, nor see the hushed meeting between the rider and the Master of Imladris under the clear night sky.

"Thank you, Erestor," said Elrond quietly, glad that his sons had just returned from border patrols and were exhausted enough to be sleeping until sunrise, or else he would be jumping at every shadow. Secret meetings in the dead of night drew Elladan and Elrohir like hobbits to a banquet, and where the twins were, Estel was usually only a step behind them. It had actually become quite entertaining the past year, since Estel had learned to follow the twins without them knowing.

His chief advisor bowed and walked off, no doubt to seek his bed. Elrond frowned at the elf for a moment; Erestor's unsteady walk indicated how fatigued he was, and Elrond could still remember one occasion when Erestor had been so exhausted he had wandered into Elrond's room by mistake and had promptly fallen asleep. Unfortunately, Celebrian had been in there, and she had thought he was Elrond.

He couldn't help smiling. To the present day, Glorfindel still reminded Erestor of that occasion when the elf bothered him about the often worn condition of his travelling garments. It had always a secret function of the chief advisor to deliver messages that a ruler didn't want his other advisors to know about.

Suddenly remembering the folded letter in his hand, he returned to his study, where a cheery fire still burned in the fireplace. He deftly broke the seal with his thumb and opened the letter. An even bigger smile graced his ageless face as his eyes quickly read the letter through. 

"Well?" 

Elrond didn't need to turn to tell who it was; the Istar was one of the handful of people who could walk undetected by elven ears if he wanted to.

"He agreed," Elrond responded, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "He even went on to say that he thought it was a good idea." He made a point of ignoring Mithrandir's I told you so look. "But why, Mithrandir? I deem that there is another reason you wish to encourage this friendship. Will you tell me now?"

The old man looked thoughtfully out of the window. At Eärendil, Elrond noted. "It is something I feel must happen, though more for the other's sake than your son's." 

The elf-lord sighed. Men often claimed that elves were cryptic beyond reason, but what of the Istari? He didn't press Mithrandir, though, knowing that to do so was futile. Elrond himself understood that sometimes counsel had to be taken without a complete explanation; he didn't always fully explain the advice he gave.

"Now that that is seen to, I must leave." 

Elrond blinked. "Why?" He seemed to be saying that a lot tonight, "Has something happened?"

Mithrandir smiled. "No, calm down, my friend. But it is not yet time for me to meet young Aragorn, though I am keeping an eye on him."

"The day you explain yourself sufficiently will be the day I go over the Sea," Elrond muttered. The Wizard had been heading out the door, beyond the range of elven hearing, yet he turned around and said, "I didn't know you were seer, son of Eärendil."

With a small chuckle at the bewildered look on Elrond's face, he departed.

~*~*~


	2. Chapter One: Arrivals

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This story is set two years after Aragorn learns of his heritage (which makes him 22 years old) and a couple of months after his first trip to Mirkwood to deliver a message for Elrond led him to meeting Legolas. Regretfully, I do not think I'll be writing about that incident, for a lot of it is described in this story anyway. Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter One: Arrivals

"Estel!" He felt a soft pillow land on his head. "You'll get cold water next!"

"I'm up," the hidden heir of Isildur said groggily, swiping at his brother's smirking face. Elrohir. "A drop of cold water and you'll be flying out of my balcony, _muindor_."

"He's not a morning person, is he?" said a voice from the door. Estel turned his head to glare at an exact carbon copy of Elrohir leaning by his door. "The Sun's been up for an hour, Estel."

"And I would have been up with it if it weren't for you two insisting on some 'training' yesterday." Aragorn managed to pull himself upright, despite the protests of his aching muscles. It had been a couple of years since he had first bested Elladan at the sword. But having little else to do, as they were on a 'break' from orc-patrol and "anything that took them further than a day's ride from home", as their father had put it, the twins had decided to push Estel's limits. Gilraen and Glorfindel had commented disapprovingly that Estel could already outfight at least half the elves in Imladris, but the twins only pushed him harder. The day before had been spent on sword practice- atop trees.

"In any case, you had better shower quickly and get dressed. Grandfather has just come into sight at the Ford," Elrohir said casually as he helped the human up.

"What?" Without another word, Estel grabbed a towel and sprinted down the hallway to the male baths. No one was there yet, but thankfully the water had been warmed; so Estel undressed and threw himself into it, scrubbing like a thing possessed.

The preparations for the Great Race had begun a week ago, but the first delegation – from Lothlórien – were arriving that day. He had completely forgotten about it. He also had not expected Lord Celeborn to come himself, but apparently he was. Apprehension made his empty stomach tremble. He had not met the Lord of the Galadhrim before, never having traveled to Lothlórien, but even the twins were intimidated by him. He was also at a loss as to how he should address Celeborn of Doriath. It was all very well and good for the twins to call him Grandfather, but his only relation to the elf-lord was as a very distant nephew of Elrond. His mother had only shrugged, told him that he worried too much, and suggested he settle for 'Lord'.

Satisfied that he was clean enough for an audience with a visiting elf-lord, he got out of the bath, wrapped the towel around himself, picked up his clothes, and ran back to his room.

Elladan and Elrohir were still there, laying out his clothes. It was only then that he noticed that they were already dressed. Both were wearing midnight blue silk tunic and breeches, with a lighter blue undershirt and grey brocade, but Elladan's tunic was lined with silver, marking him out as the Heir. This was because traditionally, Elrond would have the title of King, but after the death of Gil-Galad he refused the title- at least officially. He still held the rank, however, and consequently his eldest son was the Crown Prince, though Elladan was of like mind as his father. Their outer robes of silver-grey were still folded in the corner, on top of Estel's.

Seeing him enter, they grinned wickedly at one another and pounced on their youngest brother before he could protest. In ten minutes they had him dressed, combed, and to Aragorn's disgust, even _scented_. 

"You really should grow your hair longer, Estel," Elladan said as he attempted to tame the Ranger's wild mane. "Then you can wear braids like ours."

"You may not believe it, 'Adan," Aragorn gritted his teeth at a particularly hard pull of the comb. "But I'm not trying to be an elf."

"Really?" asked Elrohir as he watched his twin's efforts in barely contained amusement. Aragorn had the irritating habit of neglecting to brush his hair, and consequently the tangles he collected in his forays in the Wild required forceful persuasion to come undone. "Our mistake then, little brother."

Eventually the trio made their way out to the front courtyard, where Elrond already stood with Erestor and suprisingly, Gilraen. 

"Good morning!" they said in a loud unison that they knew irritated their father to no end. 

Elrond looked them over, and nodded approvingly, especially at Estel. Estel only straightened his tunic, distinctly uncomfortable in the finery, and kissed his mother warmly on the cheek in greeting. But Gilraen lifted an eyebrow, and deliberately glanced at their foreheads, her face on the verge of a legendary frown that had once sent a battle-weary Glorfindel mopping up the dirt his boots left on the floor.

The three groaned, but reluctantly pulled out the circlets from underneath their outer robes and set them on their heads. Elrond wore one also; a silver, doubled-banded one in a simple Rivendell design. Elladan's circlet was similar, but with only one band, and Elrohir's and Estel's were plain silver bands. The circlets were another symbol of the royalty that Elrond adamantly refused to acknowledge, yet could not fully rid himself of. 

Elrond smiled at Gilraen. "How do you do that, my lady? They no longer even listen to _me_, yet you hardly said a word."

Gilraen only smiled; the three brothers scowled. Just then, the Lorien delegation turned the bend and came into view. 

Riding slightly ahead was a tall, silver-head elf that Estel knew without a doubt must be Lord Celeborn. Being an elf, no trace of his great age could be seen on the smooth face, yet his eyes carried the weight of his years and the authority of the Lord of Lothlórien. A power radiated from him that could be sensed even from afar, and Estel found that he was holding his breath in awe.

Before reaching them, Celeborn dismounted and handed the reins to an awaiting stable hand.

"Lord Celeborn," greeted Elrond warmly, stepping forward and clasping the elf's hand in his own. Being family meant that he didn't have to be overtly formal, yet he had always been a bit apprehensive about his wife's father. "_Elén sila lumenn omentilmo_."

"Lord Elrond," replied Celeborn, equally formally. "My heart is glad to be under the fair boughs of Imladris again."

"Welcome, delegation of Lothlórien," Elrond now addressed the two dozen elves that stood behind their lord. "May Rivendell be a second home to you during your stay. This Erestor, my chief advisor, and this is Lady Gilraen, a member of my household. They will lead you to the chambers set aside for you. And these are my sons: Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel." 

His sons inclined their heads slightly upon being named. As expected, Estel caused a bit of a stir in the Galadhrim, with a few hard glares at his direction. Elrond's keen ears caught a mutter of "But he's a Man…", It made him grit his teeth, but elf-lord had had to endure a lot worse in the past from his own elves, so he ignored it. His sole concern was Celeborn's reaction; this was the first time the elf lord and Estel met.

Celeborn nodded. "Very well." He turned to his elves. "Remember that we are _guests_ here, and I will take it ill should any of you embarrass Lothlórien during our stay in Lord Elrond's realm." Perhaps he had caught the remark also. "Until the Opening Banquet, then."

As his elves separated and followed Erestor and Gilraen into the House, Celeborn smiled at the twins. "Elladan. Elrohir."

"Grandfather." They rushed in and embraced the him and Estel and Elrond had to stifle their laughter at seeing Celeborn of Doriath's startled expression

"It's been a long time since I have seen you," Celeborn said after he managed to pry the twins away from him. "Your sister sends her love, but she is rather occupied these days, and couldn't come." Elrond didn't miss the way Estel's eyes glanced at the ground, and shifted his stance a little. He wasn't sure Celeborn didn't either, for the elf-lord then turned his attention onto the young human. 

"Estel," he said quietly, his eyes boring into the young human's. "I have heard many things about you, young one. Take no heed of the Galadhrim's suspicions- we in Lothlórien seldom encounter Men, and many distrust that which they don't know."

"Yes, my lord," Estel replied. Elrond felt sorry for the young man; Celeborn was intimidating when one first knew him – and especially if that one had an interest in his daughter – but once you had his trust, the elf turned out to be a kindly person and offered good advice.

Suddenly Celeborn's stern face broke into a smile. He nodded, as if he saw something in Estel that he approved of, and Estel unconsciously grinned back.

"My sons," Elrond said. "Why don't you go help Glorfindel in the armoury?"

The sudden spark of mischief in Elrohir's eyes made him regret the suggestion immediately, but he reasoned that whatever havoc they would cause could be blamed on his fair-haired friend, so he watched them run off with a sigh.

"He has much of Elros in him," Celeborn said suddenly, his eyes following Estel. "They have the same eyes. When I was coming down here, and I saw the four of you together, I truly took him for one of your sons."

"He _is_ my son," Elrond replied, a little stiffly. That unsolicited remark from the unknown Galadhrim that morning had reminded him of the years of facing criticism for his decision to take Estel as his own. He had harboured the descendants of Elendil ever since the death of Isildur, but Estel was the only one he had truly taken for his own. And he when he did so, he resolved to never regret the decision. "And no less dearer to me than the twins, or Arwen." Not even seeing Arwen's eyes had made him regret that act twenty years ago, though it was the closest he had ever come to it.

"That I can see." Celeborn's eyes said that he could also see all that Elrond was not saying. "When is Thranduil's delegation arriving?"

Elrond couldn't help smiling, and at Celeborn's worried expression wondered if he should assure the elf lord that he was not planning anything unpleasant for the King of Mirkwood. "Tomorrow."

~*~

"Legolas?" 

The elf prince raised his head to look at his father. Thranduil sighed. It didn't take a very observant eye to see that Thranduil's youngest son was riding slightly apart from the rest of the delegation. Beside the King, Derinsul shook his head, apparently noticing the same thing. 

Thranduil knew that Legolas wasn't the most social of beings, but sometimes he wished the young elf would make an effort. _But he did, once. _And had gained no more than a few acquaintances to greet along the hallways. He got along well enough with fellow archers and warriors, or so his captains always claimed, but… 

He wasn't really sure of what was wrong with his son, or if anything _was_ wrong, but every time he looked into the eyes of the young elf, he would see… dissatisfaction was the only word for it. As far as he was concerned (as Legolas tried very hard to convince his family of this) his son was a perfectly happy elf. It was known throughout the kingdom that the Prince Legolas never complained, never made unreasonable requests, and was the most obedient son his father could wish for. This had led to some suspicion that Thranduil was an oppressive father who liked controlling his children, but that was quite untrue. If anything, Thranduil had always thought that he let his children run more amok than the children of a King should. In Legolas' case, however, Thranduil would sometimes drive himself to distraction trying to incite a semblance of spirit.

Legolas was perfect. The unofficial best archer of Mirkwood (he had beaten the elf who held the official title three centuries ago); he could master any weapon he laid hands on, though so far he still preferred the knives and bow. He went wherever his father told him to go, he did whatever his captains ordered him to do. He was patient, kindly, generous, loyal. He was essentially flawless- and perhaps that was the problem. 

It was not that he didn't like his son the way he was. With five children, it was a relief that at least one would not be threatening his sanity twice a day. Yet even in his childhood Legolas' only experience with punishments had been purely because of accidents (and he never made the same mistake twice). He was also painfully noble, which made Thranduil quite certain that some of those punishments had been on behalf of his siblings. This century he had only managed to flare up his son's anger once- the day a certain messenger from Imladris had appeared on the borders of Mirkwood.

Thranduil sneaked a glance at Derinsul. His eldest son would not approve of his plans, but he had not been there three months before, when Thranduil had seen Legolas with Elrond's adopted human son. 

"Father, when will we be arriving?" asked Legolas in that quiet voice of his.

Did he detect a hint of anticipation? Unfortunately his son had picked up the ability to become as inscrutable as Elrond somewhere. "Tomorrow, my son."

"Derinsul." He motioned his eldest over, and whispered, "Will you see to it that Legolas participates in the Race?"

The elf smiled. "Now I see why we brought him along. A good idea, father. I'll see to it."

For a moment he wondered if he should share his plans with his heir, but dismissed the notion. Derinsul was extremely protective of Legolas – though he didn't seem to be aware of it – and seemed to take pride in the fact that he was closest to his youngest brother. Thranduil made a mental note to have a word with Derinsul about that at one point.

His mind turned to their destination. He had not been to Imladris in a very long time, not since… He shook his head. Perhaps it was about time he and Elrond made peace; he had received a message that Celeborn was attending the Race also, and was probably not looking forward to being sandwiched between the formidable Lord of Imladris and the fiery King of Mirkwood again.

Feeling Legolas' gaze, he turned and saw his son's deep blue eyes regarding him. That was another mystery. Thranduil, Derinsul and Legolas stood out amongst the dark-haired Mirkwood elves because of their golden locks, but Legolas possessed a further difference; he had eyes no Sindar or Silvan should have. 

In his long years on Middle-Earth, Thranduil had made the discovery that aside from the light of immortality that distinguished an elf from a mortal, the eyes also held a quality that reflected the blood of the owner. Sindar eyes tended to be light grey-blue, and glittered like the caves of Menegroth; Silvans and Galadhrim had sky-blue to green to light brown eyes, reflecting the woods that were their homes; the Noldori usually had dark grey to silver-blue eyes, with the depth of the Sea and a deeper inner light of the Calaquendi. The eyes of Legolas were a Silvan blue, and glittered like his father's Sindar eyes, and yet had a depth and intensity that was reminiscent of the Calaquendi; but how he came to have those eyes, Thranduil didn't know. He had had suspicions once, yet the long years since his wife's departure had convinced him to lay those suspicions to rest. 

He had the feeling that Mithrandir saw something in Legolas' eyes, though, but getting an answer out of him was a feat Thranduil was not mentally equipped for.

"Yes, Legolas?" he asked, snapping out of his thoughts and realising that his son was still looking at him. 

"You are not seeking trouble with Lord Elrond, are you?" he asked innocently. Thranduil suppressed the notion that his son could read his mind; those eyes _were_ quite unnerving.

"Nay, I am not," he answered, and truthfully, too. It was past time to make peace. 

"That is a relief," Legolas said, though he didn't look as if he fully trusted his father's words. He made a small gesture towards the rest of the delegation. "But can you say the same for everyone else?"

~*~*~ 

Author's Notes:

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OK, I should be arrested! First and foremost, I would like to point out that the initial idea for the Great Race comes from Jocelyn's Legolas story A Little Nudge Out Of The Door_ (which is an exquisite piece of writing that I highly recommend), so my many thanks to her, and apologies for stealing; the Great Race will be as different from the Tournament as I can make it, but the credit for the original idea goes to her. _

Second, I'm suspending my story Enyalie_ for reasons I explained on the latest 'chapter', so if you've been following it, please go and have a look. Thank you so much to those who have been reading it, and I'm really sorry to be doing this. As a token of my immense apologies, I'm _writing Race with Wrath_. I was writing little snippets to explore different aspects of the characters of Legolas and Aragorn (I love them both, but why do they have to be so darn complicated?) for _Mirrors in the Mind_, when it suddenly mutated into a full-blown story! _

PS- Those who have been following MitM will probably recognise dear old Derinsul. We'll be seeing plenty of him here, as well as one of Legolas' sisters.


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